


the kids don’t wanna come home

by slytherincosette



Category: IT - Stephen King, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Good Brother Klaus Hargreeves, M/M, References to Past Child Abuse, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Richie Tozier and Klaus Hargreeves are Twins, Substance Abuse, Superpowers, because fuck yeah robert sheehan faceclaim, because klaus, because this is the hargreeves family after all, boy i'm so excited, married reddie, richie is a necromancer and his voices are dead ppl talking through him, twin au!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-05 08:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17915345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherincosette/pseuds/slytherincosette
Summary: Eddie isn’t stupid. Richie should just fuckingtell himbefore he figures it out for himself, but how do you explain to your husband of four years that, oh yeah, you were kind of sort of a child superhero who can raise corpses and sometimes,sometimes, dead people speak through you? Those impressions aren’t always impressions! Sorry, Eds, forgot to mentionthatin the nuptials.God, Eddie’s going to divorce his ass so hard.-the umbrella academy/it crossover that nobody asked for, but i wrote it anyway.





	1. the beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> hi what's up i'm so freaking excited to share this project with y'all. some friends and i have been going HAM over this au so if you see a couple others pop up over the next couple of days, make sure to check them out because my pals are talented writers with amazing ideas!
> 
> because so many people use robert sheehan as a faceclaim for adult richie, i thought it would be really fun if they were twins and from that, this fic (my literal child) was born. hope u enjoy! and if you don't, don't tell me. that's just mean.

_i can still hear you saying "you will never break the chain."_

Richie clicks the TV on, reads the headline. Counts to ten.

It’s 10:43 pm. The city is still awake, humming and buzzing just outside Richie’s window. The television glows like radiation against the dark living room, stuck on a picture of a man standing behind a group of kids in ridiculous fucking masks and bastardized Catholic school uniforms. God, the knee socks. Richie doesn’t miss those fucking knee socks.

He’s frozen in place but the TV isn’t, moving on to some dumb feel-good story like Richie’s entire life hasn’t just been cracked into tiny pieces. 

That’s where Eddie finds him, hours later, tear tracks crusted onto red cheeks. Richie should ask him how work was, kiss him hello like a good husband, but he can’t manage to unstick himself from the couch. Eddie immediately notices something is off, because Eddie is wonderful in every possible way. He drops his bag to the floor with a low thunk and pads lightly over to Richie’s rigid form. Like rigor mortis, Richie thinks wildly. A laugh bubbles out of his throat, a little hysterical in nature. It turns into something like a sob on the way out.

Eddie drops down to his knees in front of Richie and Jesus, he doesn’t even have it in him to make a blowjob joke. “Hey, babe,” Eddie says, gentle and kind. It’s the voice he uses to talk to patients and young children. “Why’re you still up?”

“My, uh,” Richie coughs into his sleeve, trying to discreetly wipe at his face. Eddie pries his arm away and holds tight to his hand. “My dad died.”

It’s in that moment that something inside Richie just kind of...breaks. He leans forward, arms wrapped around his middle like he can hold his hemorrhaging emotions inside for just a little while longer. Eddie moves closer to bury his face into Richie’s hair, murmuring nonsensical little reassurances and curling his fists into Richie’s shirt.

His dad was a bad person. A real piece of shit. Richie has spent his entire life hating his father, and not even in the angsty teenage way that sometimes manages to seep into a bitter adulthood. No, Richie _hates _\--hated--Reginald Hargreeves with every atom in his body, every bit of stardust and skin and whatever else humans are made up of.__

____

Still, Richie mourns. He mourns his dickhead of a father, who ripped a bunch of kids away from families who might have actually loved them just so he could conduct his weird science experiment. He mourns the siblings he hasn’t seen since he was seventeen, and the one who disappeared when he was thirteen. 

____

He mourns Klaus, who swore they’d always be together, up until the day they weren’t. 

____

Eddie’s movement jolts Richie out of his thoughts, eyes following his husband as he settles down on the couch next to him. Eddie opens his arms and Richie dives into them, face smushed against Eddie’s chest. He smells like he always does after a shift at the hospital, like rubbing alcohol and the most clinical of soaps. It’s weirdly comforting. 

____

“Have you gotten in contact with anyone?” Eddie asks gently. Eddie doesn’t know much about Richie’s family, and Richie had planned on keeping it that way. He hadn’t exactly counted on dear old dad croaking with no warning. God, so fucking selfish. Even in death. “Any of your...siblings?” 

____

Because the universe is so clearly against him, the TV starts showing a replay of some stupid fucking red carpet event and there, in all her glory, is Allison. She looks beautiful, until the cameras start flashing too quickly and people start yelling invasive questions about Dad and Jesus Christ, is this how Allison found out? One pap asks if she’s talked to any of her brothers and Richie thinks inanely, _hey, that’s me_. 

____

_”--eccentric billionaire and recluse, Reginald Hargreeves, found dead in his home. Daughter, beloved actress, and former member of The Umbrella Academy Allison Hargreeves refused to comment--”_

____

“Fuck,” Richie groans into Eddie’s scrubs, squeezing his eyes shut as another picture of his stupid _fucking_ father flashes across the screen. “Turn the television off. Please.” 

____

Richie can hear Eddie’s frown. He’s suspicious, it’s too coincidental. Eddie isn’t stupid. Richie should just fucking _tell him_ before he figures it out for himself, but how do you explain to your husband of four years that, oh yeah, you were kind of sort of a child superhero who can raise corpses and sometimes, _sometimes_ , dead people speak through you? Those impressions aren’t always impressions! Sorry, Eds, forgot to mention _that_ in the nuptials. 

____

God, Eddie’s going to divorce his ass so hard. 

____

Richie lets out another strangled whine, and Eddie scrambles for the remote. The TV clicks off, bathing them both of them in darkness. Richie’s shaking like a leaf, skin buzzing and burning like he’s been set on fire. This is it. The end of his normal, civilian life, where the only time he ever has to use his power is to make sure Eddie’s favorite plants don’t die. He’s had a good run. 

____

It was only a goddamn matter of time, though, wasn’t it? After Vanya’s _stupid_ fucking book, the Umbrella Academy had been thrust back into the spotlight after years of radio silence. The hype has died down in subsequent years, but there are always people with too much time on their hands, poking around like assholes. She’d name dropped all of them, after all, exposed the fact that The Seance had actually been a set of _twins_ instead of just one kid who was too powerful for his own good. Klaus and Richie, joined at the hip, until Richie fucked off to who-knows-where and left poor Klaus to his demons. 

____

Richie might actually punch Vanya if he sees her. 

____

And fuck, he probably has to, right? There’s going to be a funeral. Richie should go. Not for his father, or his asshole siblings, but to give himself closure. He deserves it, deserves to finally, _finally_ close this shitty chapter in the horror novel that is his life. 

____

Or he could just let it fade quietly into the background until it’s nothing more than the tragic backstory that barely makes it into the movie. 

____

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Eddie asks, voice no more than a whisper, fingers carding lightly through Richie’s curls. 

____

Richie shakes his head. “Not tonight,” he says, croaky and hoarse, “Can we just go to bed?” 

____

Eddie presses a featherlight kiss to Richie’s forehead, says, “Yeah, of course. We can talk in the morning.” 

____

“Okay,” Richie says quietly, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Tomorrow, he’ll have to tell Eddie everything. 

____

__Tonight, he just wants to be held, and he wants to go the fuck to sleep._ _

____

__-_ _

____

__Richie wakes up screaming, but it isn’t him._ _

____

__He sees Eddie’s panicked face hovering over him, hands gripping at Richie’s shoulders like this is just a nightmare he can wake up from._ _

____

__It’s not. This is just Richie’s stupid fucking life._ _

____

__He hasn’t lost control like this in years, hasn’t had a Voice come through that he couldn’t control in a very long time. Usually he can play it off as a well-practiced impression, and Eddie will roll his eyes, and Richie will do his best to ignore the nausea boiling up in his esophagus._ _

____

But it’s not an impression. It’s the voice of someone who used to _be_ someone, with a family and maybe a spouse, coupla kids. A dog, even. Except now they’re dead, and Richie’s the lucky asshole who gets to walk around as a human ouija board. Dad used to think it was tourettes until he realized that, no, it was only a bunch of dead people using his seven year old son as a megaphone. 

____

(Richie will never forget how _pleased_ his dad had looked while Richie sat on the floor of his office, sobbing his little heart out, Klaus hovering in the doorway. He’d ignored them both in favor of scribbling in that _goddamn_ notebook, only pausing to snap at Klaus when he tried to inch closer to his twin.) 

____

__Back then, the spirits could say whatever they wanted and Richie had been powerless to stop them until they were done. As he grew, he learned to speak over them; their voice, his words. It got to the point where none of his siblings even batted an eyelash when Richie’s voice would change mid-sentence to that of an English lady with a lisp._ _

____

This, though. Richie knows this voice. It sounds eerily similar to his own, just a little higher pitched. A little more frantic, with a manic kind of lilt that Richie never quite picked up, repeating _oh shit, oh fuck, holy shit_ through Richie like a speaker. 

____

__Klaus. And if Klaus is speaking through Richie, that means--_ _

____

The voice--Klaus’ voice--stops abruptly, just an echo in the back of Richie’s mind, and there’s no fucking way, no _fucking_ way that Richie lost his dad and his twin in one night. The universe can’t possibly be that cruel. 

____

__And then Richie remembers his clusterfuck of a life and thinks, yeah, okay. Maybe it is._ _

____

__There are horrible, gasping sobs ripping through his body like tissue paper, and Eddie pulls Richie as close as physically possible. They stay like that for a long while, and Richie knows Eddie must be exhausted but he stays awake and tries his best to help Richie calm down. It takes a hot minute, but soon Richie is breathing evenly and thinking clearly enough to say, “Eds, I have to go home tomorrow. To where I grew up.”_ _

____

__“I’ll go with you,” Eddie says immediately, “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”_ _

____

__“Eds--”_ _

____

“Richie.” Eddie cuts him off with a firm, close-mouthed kiss. “I know your family life is fucked up, okay? Impossibly fucked up, even. I _know_.” 

____

Richie’s head goes a little foggy, because what exactly is Eddie getting at? Because he _can’t_ possibly know, he can’t-- 

____

__Eddie disentangles himself from Richie and rolls away, reaches under one of the nightstands and oh. Vanya’s book. Eddie is holding Vanya’s book._ _

____

__Fuck._ _

____

__“Fuck,” Richie says._ _

____

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” Eddie says, a little apologetically, which. Why does Eddie sound sorry? “You left your copy on the coffee table one day, and I picked it up because it sounded interesting. I grew up watching The Umbrella Academy kids kick ass on the news. I even had a few comics lying around. But no one ever knew about Vanya, and I was curious. So I picked it up, and lo and behold, it was personalized.” Eddie flips open the front cover, reads, “ _I’m sorry. I had to tell my story. V._ ” 

____

Richie stares at the ceiling, refusing to meet Eddie’s eyes. His heart is beating a mile a minute, thumping right out of his chest and into his throat. Eddie’s known for...God, for years, probably. And Richie’d been fibbing this whole time, avoiding the topic of family like the black plague, thinking he was _real slick._

____

Eddie sets the book down carefully on the bed like it’s an explosive, and, well, for what it did to Richie’s family, it very well could be. Richie still doesn’t know how Vanya got his address. He hasn’t spoken to any of them since his lovely father kicked him to the curb at seventeen with an advance in his inheritance and the warning to never return, _or else_. Cryptic and weird, just like Dad. 

____

__“I read the whole thing in one sitting,” Eddie says, and it sounds like he’s working to keep his voice even, mild, “Especially when I figured out you were the missing twin. The pictures she included...I’d recognize you anywhere. I totally would have had a crush on you in high school. And I knew you had a twin you didn’t speak to, and other siblings who were out of the picture. That, and the weird way that my plants never seem to die no matter how many times I forget to water them.” A pause, and then, “Plus, she really just straight-up name dropped you, huh? Pretty fucked up.”_ _

____

__Richie lets out a strangled bark of laughter. “Yeah. Guess so.”_ _

____

__“And at first I was...really mad. But the more I read, the more I realized how fucking awful your childhood was, and how could I possibly blame you for wanting to leave that behind? God knows I get it.” Eddie’s hands are twisting in his lap. Richie still won’t meet his eyes, but he can feel Eddie’s gaze burning into him like coal fire. “You were horribly abused, and I’m sure that your sister didn’t even know the half of it. I just...wish you trusted me enough to tell me.”_ _

____

__Richie sits up abruptly, eyes wild, because fuck no, he can’t have Eddie thinking that. “Eds, baby,” he whispers, grabbing for Eddie’s hand. “That’s not it at all. I trust you more than I trust myself. You could tell me the ocean had turned purple and baby, I’d believe you.” Eddie lets out a huff of a laugh, which encourages Richie to keep going. “I just...I was so scared you’d look at me like I was a freak. And by the time I met you I was so used to shoving that part of me down, I just...never let it come back up for air. And that’s biting me in the ass now. I’m sorry.”_ _

____

__Eddie shrugs, offers a tiny smile. “Don’t apologize. I’ve had a lot of time to work through it. I trusted that you had good reasons.”_ _

____

__“You shouldn’t have,” Richie tells him, “My reasons were shit and I am an asshole.”_ _

____

__“I mean, yeah, you are,” Eddie allows, “But not because of this.”_ _

____

__Eddie settles against the headboard, lets Richie nestle his head against his shoulder. Eddie’s head falls lightly on top of Richie’s and they sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the city, the horns honking in the distance. It’s 4:24 am and the rug has been ripped out from under Richie’s feet. His eyes are swollen, stomach clenching uncomfortably. His father is dead._ _

____

__Klaus might be dead._ _

____

__“Richie Hargreeves, huh?” Eddie asks, going for light and missing by a mile._ _

____

__“Richie Kaspbrak,” Richie corrects. His voice is quiet but firm. Eddie squeezes his hand tightly. “Vanya got a lot wrong, by the way. Fucking bitch made me look like a comic book villain, leaving my poor addict brother all alone. I was kicked out, I didn’t _leave_. And even if I did, so fucking what? Five did and there’s still a goddamn portrait of him in the living room. S’not like any of them came after me.”_ _

____

__“Why did you get kicked out?”_ _

____

__Richie sighs, gnaws at his bottom lip until its raw. “I, uh. Well. I sort of refused to keep using my powers. Told Dad straight up that I was done being his little zombie machine. He, uh. He didn’t take it well.”_ _

____

__Eddie tightens his grip on Richie’s hand. “You’re a good person, Richie.”_ _

____

__Richie doesn’t respond, because how can he? He spent the first seventeen years of his life reanimating and using the dead in the name of _justice_ , all because his psychopath father set a bunch of malleable children on a misguided warpath. _ _

____

__Dad may have shot the bullet, but Richie and his siblings were the gun. Playing with shit they had no right to be messing with. Using their powers in irresponsible ways because they were never taught otherwise. Richie didn’t stop using his powers because he was a _good person_ , he stopped using them because he was _scared_. Because he was so tired, so sick of watching the lifeless bodies drop with cracking thuds when he was done playing with them. _ _

____

__Richie’s not a good person. He’s just a coward with half a conscience._ _

____

__He falls asleep fitfully, knowing full well that in the morning he’s going to have to face his family and all of the skeletons he’s got locked up his closet. He dreams of a lost looking teenage boy with his own face, upstairs in a strange old house, one hand pressed against the window as a car takes Richie far, far away._ _

____


	2. the return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to this story has been so wonderful, thank you to everyone who left kudos and a comment! i thought this would be a very niche little story that nobody would really want to read but i'm so glad y'all are as excited as i am!

_if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked._

The car ride to the mansion is quiet. Eddie has the music turned almost all the way down, just a background hum. Richie stares out the window, takes in the familiar streets as they get closer and closer to everything he left behind.

Eddie pulls up to the house after what seems like a thousand years, dragging on so slowly it felt like the pit in Richie’s stomach was trying to eat itself. “We’re here,” Eddie says, looking a little lost. Neither of them move, and the stillness goes on for long enough that Eddie reaches over, settles his hand over Richie’s, offers, “We don’t have to go in, if you’re not ready.”

“I have to,” Richie says, and that’s that.

Eddie gets out of the car, comes around and opens Richie’s door for him like a true gentleman. In reality, it’s probably just because Richie still hasn’t moved, despite his rather weak protests asserting his okay-ness. The truth is, Richie has no idea if he’ll be okay. If he’ll walk into that goddamn house and crumble under the weight of the memories and the people that shaped him, good and bad and everything in between.

He takes the hand Eddie offers and lets himself be pulled out of the car. Eddie closes the door and settles a hand on Richie’s lower back, let’s his head drop against Richie’s shoulder. “I’m right here,” he whispers, “And I love you so much.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t divorce me,” Richie whispers back. He’s about to settle his head on top of Eddie’s, but Eddie isn’t having it. He pinches Richie in the side, rather hard, and gets this indignant look on his face, the same way he does whenever Richie makes fun of his fuckin’ gucci loafers.

“You thought I was going to divorce you? What the fuck, Richie?”

“I lied to you about my entire childhood and the fact that I can like, literally raise the dead. That’s fucked up. I wasn’t sure how you’d react!”

“Good thing I’m smarter than you and figured it out years ago, you dumbass.” A pause, and then, “You didn’t lie. You just...didn’t bring it up.”

“Lying by omission is still lying, Edward!”

“Are you trying to...convince me to be angry with you?”

“...No.”

“Jesus Christ. Let’s just go inside.”

That sobers Richie up a little. Eddie notices the shift in mood because Eddie notices everything. His hand returns to Richie’s lower back firmly, guiding him up the stairs and into the house. The foyer looks exactly like it did the day Richie left, and it feels a little like his throat is closing up. 

And of course, standing in the middle of it all, is Vanya. 

“Richie,” Vanya says, eyes wide, “Hi.”

Richie clears his throat, blinks a few times. Says, “Hey, V.”

“You look good,” Vanya offers, “I like the hair.”

Richie runs a hand through it without thinking. It’s longer than its ever been, just grazing against the bottom of his chin. His curls are wild and untamed, almost defiant in the way they bounce after years of lying dormant beneath a hair gel helmet. “Yeah, well. Dad never exactly let me grow it out, so.”

An awkward silence falls between them. Speaking to Vanya feels like shouting across a cavern. Looking at her now, how small she is, how scared she looks...it’s hard to hate her. But God, is Richie’s heart trying. 

She’s the reason his husband, the best thing in his life, found out all of his dirty little secrets. Eddie’s a good person, and Eddie chose to continue to love him in spite of it all. But a monster’s still a monster no matter how hard you love it.

Richie of all people gets that. And he knows Vanya does, too.

Eddie chooses that moment to cross the foyer and stick a hand out in greeting. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” he says, voice kind. He’s trying, for Richie. “I’m Eddie, Richie’s husband. I read your book. It was very well-written.”

“Thank you,” Vanya says faintly, “I’m Vanya. Richie’s, um. Sister.”

“V,” Richie says, rather abruptly. She looks over at him, hand still in Eddie’s. “Is, uh. Is Klaus--”

“He’s upstairs,” Vanya tells him softly, and her expression is gentle. Richie lets out a breath. Klaus is alive, but his relief is short lived. He’s still stuck in this stupid house, listening to the creaks and groans of his siblings rumbling around upstairs. He’ll have to see them all, soon. He’ll have to see Klaus.

Vanya thinks he _chose_ to leave. They all do, but Vanya wrote all about it in her stupid book. And now she’s looking at him with such empathy in her eyes, and Richie wants to hate her so badly.

But he can’t.

Richie takes a few small, jilted steps towards her. Eddie nods encouragingly, which convinces Richie to close the rest of the gap. He holds his arms open and Vanya visibly startles, but she only hesitates for a moment before falling into a hug.

It’s quick, and a little awkward, but Richie understands more than anyone why she wrote the book. He was hidden, too. He gets it. He just...never felt the same need to be seen.

It’s different, he knows. Richie still went out on missions, was still included in the press runs, the magazines, the TV interviews. He was Number 4, same as Klaus. Same charming smile, same set of dimples, same easy way with words. Allison always joked that the reason Dad had them split everything down the middle was that they’d be too dangerous in interviews together. They were cute on their own, but _two of them?_ The teenage girls of the world wouldn’t stand a chance.

They’d all laughed, but underneath they knew the real reason. Dad only wanted one. He was just trying to see _which_ one.

They’d used Klaus’ name, and Richie had gotten to keep his anonymity well into adulthood.

That is, until Vayna’s book came out. 

For a while there, the public had had a blast wandering the streets of the city, trying to find _the lost twin_. Except Richie wasn’t lost. He was just trying to live his stupid life. And Klaus had all but fallen off the map entirely, out of the public eye and out of grace. Even his own twin couldn’t find him. And so Richie had become the target.

In hindsight, it makes complete sense that Eddie found out. People whispering and pointing in grocery stores, asking for autographs on the street that Richie would act politely confused about. Muttered insults under the breaths of strangers, _freak of nature_. _Abomination_.

Richie lets Vanya go.

“I’m going to, uh. Find Klaus. Maybe the others.”

“Sure,” Vanya says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s good to see you, Rich. And really nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“You, too,” Eddie says, polite as ever. 

He and Richie head up the stairs hand-in-hand. Richie takes a deep breath and starts to do what he does best, which is making shitty jokes as a defense mechanism.

“Here, look, I’ll give you the tour,” Richie says, trying his best to keep his voice easy and light. Eddie doesn’t look like he buys it, but he does what _he_ does best and indulges Richie’s stupidity. “Slid down this bannister when I was twelve and broke my arm. Klaus cried more than I did, it was kind of hilarious. Down that hallway is my childhood bedroom which I full intend to fuck you in later, because, you know. Why not?”

Eddie snorts. Richie cracks a smile that almost feels genuine.

“Over there is a bunch of rooms that nobody uses because this house is fucking huge. They overlook the living room, which has a bunch of portraits of all of us in stupid outfits that I’m sure you’ll have a great time making fun of me for later. There’s also a giant portrait of our missing brother, because who takes pictures when you can make your six twelve year old children sit still for seven hours in front of a grumpy asshole of an artist that keeps making passive aggressive comments at you every time you sneeze?”

“That’s a very specific memory,” Eddie comments mildly.

“You have no fuckin’ clue, Eds, really.” Richie doesn’t even realize where they’ve stopped until someone clears their throat. Dad’s office. Fuck. 

“Hey, Richie,” Allison calls out, and her smile is warm. “You just missed Klaus.”

“Allie,” Richie breathes out, and he strides across the room in a few long steps in order to wrap his (second) favorite sibling up in a hug. She squeezes back just tightly, face pressed into his shoulder. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

“You could have called,” she accuses, but there’s no heat in her voice. She punches his shoulder lightly when he pulls away, adds, “It’s not like it’s hard to find me.”

“The famous actress!” Richie pretends to fan himself, throws a dramatic arm over his eyes. “How could I forget? Royalty, I tell you!”

Allison laughs. “You sound just like Klaus.”

Richie lets out a breath. He’s about to reply when someone in the corner clears their throat. Richie jumps about a mile in the air, presses a hand to his heart, says, “Jesus, I am _delicate_ , you can’t just--”

He cuts himself off, because when he spins around, he ends up face to face with Luther. Or, face to pec with Luther.

“Holy shit,” Richie blurts out, “Someone’s been eating their wheaties.”

“Good to see you again, Richie,” Luther says stiffly. “Wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Richie says faintly. “Hey, do you think you could, like, crush a watermelon between your thighs? Have you tried?”

“Richie,” Eddie says, exasperated, and oh yeah, Eddie’s here.

“Shit,” Richie says. “This is my husband, Eddie. Eddie, Allison and Luther. Sister and brother, respectively. Although Luther’s boobs are a little more impressive than Allison’s these days. No offense, Allie. Also, I mean, you know. Dudes can have boobs and girls can _not_ have boobs and it’s, like, chill--”

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie says again, appearing at Richie’s side like a ghost. Ha, ghost. Richie’s going to throw up. As usual, Eddie saves the day. He shakes Allison’s hand and then Luther’s, and wow, Eddie is _really_ tiny compared to Luther. “It’s really nice to meet you both.”

“How did Richie get someone so sweet to marry a dickhead like him?” Allison asks, voice light and teasing. Richie remembers with an intense and sudden nostalgia why he always loved her best.

Eddie bumps his hip against Richie’s, says, “He practically threw himself at me. Couldn’t exactly say no, could I?”

“Now that sounds _just_ like our Richie, doesn’t it? I mean, I can’t exactly blame him, can I? You’re just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m about two seconds away from proposing to you myself.”

Richie spins around to face the door, to face the person attached to the voice that had just very recently projected out of his vocal cords like he was fucking possessed. Standing there, alive and every bit as over the top and ridiculous as Richie remembers, is Klaus. He looks tired, much skinnier than before, but he’s wearing a shit-eating grin. Richie’s eyes zero in on a little white bracelet circling Klaus’ wrist, which Klaus expertly disappears underneath his sleeve without a pause. Their eyes meet, and Richie feels like he’s finally breaking the surface after a over a decade under water.

“You’re alive,” Richie says intelligently.

For a moment, Klaus looks caught off guard. Recognition dawns quickly, eyebrows knitting together. “Did I--”

“Yeah.”

“And you--”

“Yeah, were you--”

“Yeah. Just for a second, though. No biggie, right?” Klaus throws his hands out in a sarcastic imitation of jazz hands.

“Shit.”

Off to the side, Luther sighs. “Really didn’t miss the weird twin thing.”

“Fuck off,” Klaus and Richie say together.

Allison smothers a laugh behind her hand, eyes dancing from Klaus to Richie with poorly concealed amusement. Luther huffs a little, because that’s what Luther does best. Klaus breezes into the room like he’s floating, fur-trimmed coat twirling out like a cape. 

“A twin-in-law, wow! My darling brother drops off the face of the earth and reappears with a total hottie of a husband. That’s cause for celebration, because God knows we weren’t invited to the ceremony! How was it? Were there doves? Tell me there were doves.”

“Klaus,” Richie says quietly.

Eddie, determined as ever, marches up to Klaus and sticks a hand out to shake. “I’m Eddie,” he says, “It’s really nice to meet you, even though you look exactly like my husband and it kind of freaks me out. Sorry you weren’t invited to the wedding. There weren’t any doves because birds shit everywhere and I would have lost my goddamned mind.”

Klaus listens to Eddie’s little speech with a raised eyebrow and delight sparkling in his eyes. “Oh, I like you,” he says, ignoring Eddie’s outstretched hand completely in favor of going straight in for a hug. Eddie only hesitates for half a second before hugging him back. Richie can’t help but feel like a missing piece of him is clicking back into place.

“This is all very...nice,” Luther starts, awkward and jilted as ever, “But I’d really appreciate it if you could all make your way to the living room so we could, um, discuss Dad’s service.”

The air in the room goes a little stale, the same way it always does when Luther tries to be _authoritative_. Before he can stop himself, Richie asks, “Why do you always sound like you’re directing the flow of traffic when you try to give orders?” 

Luther’s goes bright red. Klaus bursts out laughing before quickly slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. He and Richie stare at each other from across the room as Luther huffs and leaves, as Allison begrudgingly follows him out. Eddie stands a little off to the side, watching them with open interest. 

“Klaus,” Richie says again, and it’s a little pained.

Klaus makes a show of pointing to himself with an exaggerated pout, asking, “Moi?”

Richie frowns. “ _Klaus._ ”

Klaus spins away from him, pretending to take interest in a painting on the wall that he’s seen millions of times. He’s silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, until--

“We always said we’d be each other’s best man.” Klaus lets his head loll to the side lazily, eyes pinning Richie to the floor, “Or did you forget?”

“I didn’t,” Richie says, swallowing thickly. “Of course I didn’t. I left a space for you. Beside me, at the altar. I...didn’t have a best man. Made planning the bachelor party a bitch, but.” He pauses, kicks a little at the floor. “Didn’t feel right.”

Klaus watches him for a long moment, expression unreadable. A lifetime ago, Richie wouldn’t have even had to wonder. He would have just known. As easily as he knew that two plus two was four, he knew Klaus.

“You would have looked really nice in the bridesmaid dress,” Richie adds quietly, “Our friend Bev picked it out, since she was the only, like, bridesmaid. Groomsmaid? Whatever, she was on my side. It was lavender and really flowy. Looked fun to twirl in.”

“I do look good in lavender,” Klaus allows, and his smile is faint but. It’s there. Abruptly, he waves lazily in Richie’s direction, turning back to stare at the painting. “Now that I think about it, it was probably for the best. I would have outshone the both of you and that’s just...well, it’s tacky.” He waves a hand again, for want of something to do. He looks a little lost, a little confused. Probably high. Richie’s stomach clenches uncomfortably. “Anyway, best to get downstairs before dear old Number One has a coronary. See you gents in the parlor.”

With an odd little salute in Richie’s general direction and a rather suave kiss to Eddie’s hand, Klaus excuses himself and promptly heads in the exact opposite direction of the living room. Eddie moves to take his rightful place at Richie’s side, leaning his head against Richie’s shoulder. “I like him,” Eddie whispers, fingers intertwining with Richie’s. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Richie sighs. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once, says, “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

-

Ten minutes later, Richie is sitting on the ugly living room couch between Eddie and Vanya, trying his absolute hardest to keep a reasonable distance from his sister. It’s clear that Vanya is uncomfortable as well; her body is angled away from Richie, fingers twisting in her lap. Klaus is behind the bar, having steadfastly ignored every attempt at eye contact that Richie has made. Eddie’s hand on his knee is quite literally the only thing keeping Richie from bolting straight out the front door.

“Um,” Luther says intelligently, heaving his massive body to his feet, “I guess we should get this started--”

“Eddie, darling, would you like a drink?” Klaus calls loudly. Luther sends him an indignant look. There’s a pause, and then, “What? It’s been a very long time since this house has seen a guest, you know. Have you forgotten all of your manners? Daddy would be so disappointed, Luther.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” Eddie replies mildly, eyes settling pointedly on Luther as he adds, “It was very sweet of you to ask.”

God, Richie loves his fucking husband.

Luther coughs and starts in on a plan for a memorial service, which is stupid, really, because why do they need a _plan_ to stand around in the courtyard and pretend to be bummed that the old man kicked it? Klaus comes around with two glasses of something amber. He hands one to Richie with an easy and casual grace, cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“Thanks,” Richie whispers. 

Klaus ignores him in favor or making some dumb comment about refreshments and then teasing Allison about her skirt, which he is now wearing. He turns to Richie and kicks lightly at his leg, says, “Budge up, asshole,” before squishing himself in between Vanya and Richie like it’s nothing.

Luther stays standing above them, arms crossed, a reminder that he is and always will be _number one_. Diego, reliable Number Two, hovers behind him. A shadow. 

He opens his mouth and Richie promptly tunes out. He takes a sip of his drink; it’s bourbon, and it burns Richie’s throat on the way down. A welcome distraction from the pompous drone of Luther’s stupid voice. Richie swirls it around in his glass, watches with mild interest as some of it splashes against his pant leg. Eddie wipes away at it absentmindedly.

He tunes back in just in time to hear Klaus joke about their dad playing tennis with Hitler, which is pure comedy gold, and so of course Richie snorts into his drink. 

“Is something funny, Richie?” Luther demands, “In case you haven’t noticed, Dad’s dead.”

“My powers of deduction aren’t always the sharpest, big brother, but yes, I did notice that Dad’s dead, thanks,” Richie snaps.

Eddie’s hand tightens on his leg. Allison clears her throat lightly, and something like betrayal burns in Richie’s gut. The look on Luther’s face is very familiar, because it’s a carbon copy of the look Dad gave him every single time he failed to fulfill his role as the rational twin. 

“You could help, you know,” Luther tells him, face twisting in disappointment, “Dad could speak through you, or, or--”

“Or I could...what? Reanimate his ashes into a funky little tornado?” Richie sinks back against the couch, arms crossing defensively over his chest. Beside him, Klaus is impossibly still. “First of all, I don’t do that anymore. It’s fuckin’ creepy and I hate it. Second, my power doesn’t work that way. I can control it now. No one can use me as a microphone unless I _let them_ , and he’s not exactly knocking on my door and asking for my permission.”

Luther’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You can control your powers?” His tone is a little condescending, a little impressed, and Richie feels a weird sense of pride and a whole lot of shame in equal measure.

Beside him, Eddie bristles, always ready to jump to Richie’s defense at the first sign of trouble. As much as Richie appreciates it (and Eddie as a whole), he’s not in the mood to watch his tiny husband get squashed beneath his mammoth brother’s over-sized foot. “Yes, asshole, I can control my power,” Richie jumps in quickly, “Dad isn’t here. Or if he is, he’s not trying to communicate through me.”

As usual, Luther misses the point. “You can’t see him. Just because he isn’t communicating through you doesn’t mean he isn’t _here_. Klaus, could you at least try?”

“I’m not in the right frame of mind!”

“You mean you’re high?” Allison asks, unimpressed.

“Yeah, yes!” Klaus laughs, gesticulating wildly enough that a little bit of bourbon splashes onto his skirt. Richie sucks in a quiet breath. “How are you not, listening to this nonsense?” He settles back and lets his head fall against the wooden frame of the couch with a clear _thud_. Richie stares at him. He had _guessed_ by the manic energy and the twitchiness and the slight vacancy behind Klaus’ eyes, but to hear the confirmation out loud...to hear Klaus speak about it so casually, like it isn’t smashing Richie’s heart to pieces that his twin brother is _still_ an addict, a full decade later, well. 

It really fucking sucks.

Klaus tilts his head towards Richie, squinting a little. “Take a picture if you wanna stare so bad,” he offers lazily, “Or, you know. Look in a mirror.”

“Sober up,” Luther demands, “This is important.”

Richie plucks the cigarette out from between Klaus’ fingers and takes a long drag, maintaining eye contact with Luther the whole while. “Oh captain, my captain,” he says, waves a hand, “Please, oh fearless leader. Do continue.”

As it turns out, Richie probably should have just told Luther to fuck off when he had the chance, because Luther ends up implying that one of them probably killed their father and really, that’s just the icing on the shit cake. Because his siblings are weird, okay, and fucked up, and sometimes kind of mean. He’d even go as far as to say that they’re all relatively bad people, in their own special ways. But they’re not _murder your own father_ bad. Jesus.

“You’re crazy, man,” Klaus says, and he uses Richie’s knee to push himself to his feet. “You’re crazy.”

Vanya gets up next, and Richie’s quick to follow. Diego’s already out the door, having made his usual dramatic exit. Eddie plasters himself to Richie’s side, eyes wide. “I’m not done,” Luther says, and his voice is commanding but all Richie can hear is desperation.

“Okay, well, sorry, I’m just gonna go murder mom,” Klaus says, off-handed and casual as ever, “Be right back.” 

Richie snorts and grabs Eddie’s hand, pulls him out of the living room without so much as a glance back. Luther has some fucking nerve. By the time Richie pulls Eddie into his childhood bedroom and slams the door behind them, he’s positively seething. 

“How fucking dare he?” Richie demands, to no one in particular. 

He doesn’t expect a response but, Eddie gives him one regardless. With the same tone he’d use to comment about the weather, Eddie says, “Luther’s like if Captain America was a shitbag.”

And Richie, well. Richie wasn’t expecting that. It surprises a laugh out of him, which leaves Eddie looking incredibly pleased with himself. He sits down on the edge of Richie’s childhood bed and wiggles his eyebrows until Richie drops down next to him. 

“Your family is,” Eddie pauses, thinks for a moment. “Hm. They’re interesting.”

“They fucking blow,” Richie says miserably, eyes trained on the opposite wall. All of his posters are still up. His record player still sits in the corner, untouched, unable to be brought with him due to the sheer size and the fact that he couldn’t fit into a duffle bag. On his desk, there’s a framed picture of him and Klaus hugging Ben so tightly he looks like he’s about to pop, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling so goddamn wide. 

Suddenly, the room feels too small and the smell of his childhood overwhelms him; the faint must emanating from the old walls and the detergent that Mom uses, a little bit of dust and a lot of sage that seeped into the paint and never really came out. He and Klaus used to hold secret rituals to try and cleanse their rooms of the dead. To create some place, just _one place_ in this stupid house that they felt safe. Where the ghosts couldn’t reach them.

“We’re leaving as soon as the funeral is over,” Richie says, voice tight, “Maybe even sooner, to be honest. I can’t be here.”

His room is a time capsule, untouched. There’s even a pile of clothes left at the end of his bed, the record he was listening to the day he left still poised and ready to play. Almost like Mom cleaned around it, left the little traces of Richie so as not to completely erase him.

He wonders if Klaus ever came in here, after he left. 

They used to have sleepovers, which were strictly _not allowed_ because for whatever reason, Dad always seemed hellbent on keeping them separated.

( _”You are the true Number Four, Richard,” Dad would always whisper, his given name sounding cursed and dirty on his father’s lips, “You are more powerful. You have better control. You will be my greatest success, Number Four.”_ )

He can almost hear Klaus giggling, hushed under the darkness of night, both of their faces lit up by a dull flashlight stolen from the depths of the basement. 

Somewhere downstairs, Klaus yells something about manifestation. He’s probably trying to commune with Dad, and Richie assumes it’s out of spite against Luther rather than any real desire to speak to their deceased father.

Richie knows he could light a few candles, hold his hands out and invite Dad to speak through him. He might even show up, might be standing in the corner of the room _waiting_ for Richie to invite him out like the weird ass human ouija board he is. Tapping his foot impatiently and cursing his failure of a son, ranting about _wasted potential_ and demanding that Richie let him _speak_.

Richie won’t, though. No matter how many times Luther asks him to. There’s no fuckin’ way he’s inviting that bastard to use his vocal cords against him.

“I didn’t know Klaus was an addict,” Eddie says quietly, pulling Richie out of his reverie. Eddie’s always doing that; bringing Richie back down to earth. “What does he take?”

Richie huffs out a humorless laugh. “Anything he can get his hands on. I’d be willing to bet like a million dollars that he OD’d last night.”

Eddie nods, mostly to himself. A pause, and then, “We should help him.”

Richie sighs, lets his head drop into his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

Eddie tugs mindlessly at one of Richie’s curls until he laughs. Down the hall, someone starts playing music and it’s _loud_. Richie recognizes it immediately because it’s one of Allison’s favorite songs, and Luther bought the record specifically so she could listen to it whenever she wanted. Because, y’know, CDs are overrated.

(Says the asshole with a record collection. Whatever. Fuck Luther.)

“Is...is someone blasting _I Think We’re Alone Now_?”

“Mm,” Richie hums, “Yep. It’s Luther. Pretty sure it’s his mating call to Allison.”

“Wait, what--”

“Nope, nuh uh, shhhh.” Richie presses his pointer finger against Eddie’s lips in a shushing motion, pulling it away promptly when Eddie looks about _this close_ to biting it off. “That’s too much for today. I will explain it later, maybe, if I can stomach it. My dad died so you have to be nice to me.”

“ _Richie_ , oh my God--”

“ _Children behave, that’s what they say when we’re together…_ ”

“I’m going to smash his motherfucking door down,” Richie groans, flopping awkwardly onto his back. He’s a lot bigger than he used to be, even at seventeen, and he has to twist his body so as not to smack his head against the wall and, subsequently, a poster of Morrissey's giant face.

“ _And watch how you play..._ ”

Beside him, Eddie starts to move. At first, Richie thinks he’s just adjusting, getting comfortable, but then he starts shimmying menacingly in Richie’s direction and Richie thinks, _oh no_.

“Dance with me,” Eddie demands.

“No,” Richie says petulantly, throwing an arm over his face to cover his eyes. He can’t be charmed by Eddie’s stupid little dance moves if he can’t see them. It’s a solid plan. That is, until Eddie starts tugging at Richie’s other arm and swinging it like they’re actually dancing and okay, consider Richie Officially Charmed.

“Goddamnit,” Richie sighs, before he launches off the bed and picks Eddie up like a ragdoll, spinning in circles until they’re both dizzy. Eddie kicks at him but he’s laughing, loud and open. There is a not a single sound in the universe that Richie loves more deeply than Eddie’s laugh.

 _”I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around…_ ”

When Eddie’s feet finally touch the floor, he immediately starts shimmying again. It’s his signature move, and it’s the simultaneously the stupidest and best thing Richie’s ever seen. Richie copies him, going forward when Eddie goes back. He throws in a sick ballerina twirl, just because. Eddie starts to hop up and down, throwing his hands up wildly, and Richie wants to kiss him.

He’s just about to, hands cupping either side of Eddie’s face to still him, when a bright blue light bursts out in their courtyard. Shockwaves rock through the house like an earthquake, sending Eddie stumbling into Richie, which, on an ordinary day, would make Richie pretty happy. Instead, he’s mostly just terrified that the house is going to come crumbling down around them.

Richie moves on instinct, shoving Eddie out the door just as his window blasts open, broken glass falling like snow onto the ancient carpet. Luther and Allison come crashing out of their individual rooms, eyes wide and searching. 

“Is it Dad?” Allison asks.

Richie shakes his head. “Energy’s different. I don’t know what the fuck this is.”

The dead feel like pin pricks under the skin, like being watched. Goosebumps and the hair on your arm standing straight up. It’s all very stereotypical, really, except for the faint smell of burning that Richie always notices right before someone tries to make contact. 

This just feels like a natural disaster.

“Let’s go figure it out, then,” Allison says, resolute. She heads down the stairs like a bullet, Luther hot on her heels. Richie holds tight to Eddie’s hand as they make their way out, stumbling as the house groans and shakes. Vanya’s in the foyer, wide-eyed and obviously shaken. Diego grabs her by the arm because yeah, Diego can be a dick, but he’d also die for every single one of them. It’s a character flaw, because Lord knows none of them would die for him. Except maybe Klaus, but Klaus would also die for a lot less.

They rush outside, stopping short at the sight of a weird ass blue wormhole wrecking shit up in the middle of their courtyard.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes out. Richie lightly pushes him back and places his own body in between his husband and whatever the fuck that is. 

“ _Out of the way!_ ”

Klaus runs out of the house, pushes through his siblings, and throws a goddamn fire hydrant into the black hole. Blue hole. Whatever. Either way, it’s fucking stupid, and Richie cackles because he can’t help himself. Eddie whacks him in the chest and Klaus turns around, all offended, says, “Do _you_ have a better idea, Richard?”

The thing flashes menacingly, and Klaus stumbles back. Diego grabs onto the back of his coat and shoves him behind Luther. “Get behind me!” Luther yells.

And obviously Diego can’t let that go. “Yeah, get behind us!”

“Kind of not the time, guys!” Richie calls over the ruckus, fist bunched up in the fur of Klaus’ sleeve. Eddie’s attempting to peak over Richie’s shoulder, mesmerized, and Jesus, Richie thought _he_ had no self preservation. 

“I vote for running!” Klaus yells, though he stays firmly rooted in place beside Richie, fingers digging into his twin’s arm like a claw.

A face appears, old and then impossibly young, impossibly--

The wormhole disappears, and out of the sky falls Five.

The sky clears, the wind stops. Everyone takes a few steps forward, disbelief clear on their faces. Then--

“Does anyone see little Number Five, or is that just me?” Klaus asks. His eyes are trained on Five but he moves closer to Richie, linking their arms until he’s pressed right up against his twin’s side. Behind them, Eddie stands on his tiptoes to get a better look, using Klaus’ shoulder to balance.

Five looks at them, looks down at himself. “Shit,” he says, and yeah. Richie feels that _hard_.


End file.
